


Artistically calm

by SharpAttack



Series: Caustic dump [1]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Caustic is surprisingly good at art, it gives him a sense of calm, just me avoiding everything else with something new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 12:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpAttack/pseuds/SharpAttack
Summary: “Oh! I did not know you were an artist Caustic.” Wattson comments as she sits down with her pregame meal. She even slides some over to the older scientist as a jester of kindness, seeing as he hadn’t gotten anything yet.





	Artistically calm

Caustic knew he shouldn’t have let his mind wonder well he was taking notes at the pregame cafeteria. His hands… And mind wander with his pen and paper.   
  
When he had been a young man- Less nilhistic of the heinous world. He enjoyed capturing rare moments of calm…. Before storms. On his home planet, ravaged by powerful lightning storms and sparse scratchy fauna. The fresh water oceans that would bring large crabs washing assure from the tides that would get stirred by the uncoming storm.   
  
He’d sit in the cover of the thickets by the muddy beach. Blood worms peaking from the holes in the thick tar like muck. The storm front rolling and bringing with it static that use to put his hair on end.   
  
Young Alexander use to grip his father’s fountain pen after taking it from his office and along with a pad of legal paper from the fridge to draw as the storm would come. Thunder felt like it shook the earth and his very bones as it clapped overhead. It brought a primal fear, but as well as exhiliration. Away from the stuffy manor house where his father was locked up in his office or off planet. Away from everything that frustrated him. He would draw and when the thunder got close enough and easily to time with. He would yell at the top of his lungs. All the frustrations into the wind as the storm picked up. As if his very rage was why it picked up.   
  
“Oh! I did not know you were an artist Caustic.” Wattson comments as she sits down with her pregame meal. She even slides some over to the older scientist as a jester of kindness, seeing as he hadn’t gotten anything yet.   
  
He stares at the drawing, seeing he had drawn out his memory and feeling that sense of peace he would once he heard his mother calling him home from the back garden. As if he was the rain drenched young lad with all the world in front of him. Alexander hmphs. Excepting the stew and bread he was given. “I am not. Simply idle hands.” He insists.   
  
…..   
  
Alexander feels like a fool when his package arrives at his home. A large box filled with art supplies his grubby hand childhood self would’ve cried for.   
  
Now he was sat at the desk, a sharpener, a fine tipped sketching pencil and four different inking pens nearby, along with a wooden cup filled with colored pencils, then one with markers.   
  
He sits there, knowing he has better things to do. Tapping the pencils side on the table. It takes one line for him to slip into a zen. A scene coming to mind.   
  
The first time he lost an Apex game. His team hand crumbled and he had solo’d survived till the top three. Simple tactics were easy in the early days of his career. He was hidden in a windowless shack with his barrels filling the space.   
  
He was suddenly in the top too and as soon as that happened an ark star impeded itself into the door of his shack. Breaking the door off it’s hindges and popping his barrell, green smoke filling the space. Hopefully giving himself some time. But no.   
  
He heard the screech of a wild beast that put his heart in his throat. The first time he was up against Bloodhound. He feels a deep seeded fear that time. Heart pounded and hand tightening on his shotgun.   
  
The hunter moves in with a mastiff in hand, the gas seemingly not effecting them. Eyes red as he shoves the muzzle into his head. He was stunned for a moment too long, the Hunter does not hesitate.   
  
Very detail was thick in his head. Down to the fabric of their clothes and the color of their gloves, everything tainted green.   
  
Alexander let’s out a slow breath as he finishes, coloring in the red eyes of the hunter, staring down at it’s pray. That same sense of calm over comes him again. He…. Feels at ease.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh needed to just write something and this happened.


End file.
